The holographic cube goes dark.
And the room explodes.
Blues tear away from the railing, saber hilts drawn, voices rising in a volcanic roar of rage. I turn toward them and stand at my full height, trying to muster the same fierce resolve I showed in the video. Charlotte barrels into me, shielding me with her body, but the Blues are already demanding arrest and execution. Through the blur of bodies and noise, I catch Professor Hollings racing up the emergency stairs to the Blue level, fighting to push through the chaos.
Beyond him, by the railing, Rosamund watches me with thin, burning eyes. Rather than triumph, I see only pure, seething hatred. The kind that wants to crush me until there’s nothing left but flesh beneath her heel. And she might’ve done it.
Her gaze slides past me. I don’t need to follow to know where it lands.
My vision tunnels, and the air vanishes in a single, staggering pull. I close my eyes, even though I know it won’t stop what’s coming. Edmund is behind me. And I have to turn.
The blade has already struck. Now I have to watch the wound bleed.
I brace for rage, for grief, even for hatred.
But when I finally turn, what I see is worse.
Edmund is looking straight at me, but it’s like I’m not there. His face is vacant, shell-shocked, as if he’s watching something collapse on top of himin slow motion. Beneath the stillness, though, I see fractures forming—tiny, hairline cracks spidering through his expression. His eyes flick between the now-dark cube and my face, back and forth, back and forth, as if he’s trying to overlay two images and force them to match. His expression keeps shifting, appearing adrift and unmoored, until at last I see the exact moment the truth hits. From the way I begged him not to watch to the way I’m standing here now, trembling…
HeknowsI knew.
Worse, he probably thinks I always did. He thinks I entered his life carrying this secret, that I took my place beside him, held him, touched him, kissed him, and let him tell me that he loves me, all while knowing I killed his cousin.
Around me, the shouting hardens into snarls, and the words twist into threats. I barely notice until several Blues rush toward Edmund.
“She’s a Blue-killer, Prew,” one growls.
“You want to keep her after that?” another spits.
“Give her to us. I’ll reclaim your honor myself.”
They crowd in, bold and bristling, with one even shoving at his shoulder.
Edmund’s head slowly turns.
“Lay your fucking hand on me again,” he says, “and it’ll be in challenge.”
The hand drops. The Blues recoil a fraction, but their faces remain warped with fury, teeth bared, bloodlust mounting with each second.
Edmund doesn’t look at me again. His eyes stay fixed on Professor Hollings, who’s still fighting his way up the emergency stairs toward the fourth level. When he finally reaches us, flushed and panting, he stops beside me.
“Professor?” Edmund asks, with the question in his tone:Are you in control?
Hollings nods curtly, his voice cutting through the noise. “Stand down. This classroom is under my jurisdiction. Anyone who refuses to comply will be removed from the premises and barred for the remainder of the exam period.”
The Blues glare at Hollings with open contempt, as if picturing him falling mysteriously from a high ledge after the exam. Still, with bitter reluctance, they part enough to clear a path.
Through the gap in the crowd, I catch a glimpse of Edmund already at the elevator. The doors glide shut before I can take a single step toward him.
“Miss Waldsten,” Hollings says, his voice carrying across the entire room. “In light of the message submitted to Miss Prew and the disruption caused, you are hereby dismissed from this examination. The Coppers have been notified, and a formal inquiry will follow.”
I hear the words, but the fear in his eyes reveals something else. He saw how the video started, cut mid-fight and stripped of context. He knows it was staged. If the video were anything else, if I’d truly murdered Charles in cold blood, I would’ve already been arrested and executed.
But Hollings can’t say that aloud. So he’s giving the Blues a pound of flesh to pacify them. He’s throwing me out, which means I’ll receive an incomplete mark for the course.
But I live.
I nod, then turn and move past the elevator. I take the emergency stairwell instead, each step jolting up my spine through the brace. Charlotte rushes after me, ready to leave, too, but I stop her.
